Lord Have Mercy on my Soul
by lostnovember96
Summary: Detective Inspector Derek Hale arrives on the scene of a murder. 20 year old Stiles Stilinski lays in shreds at his feet. Stile's soul cannot find rest for reasons unknown even to him. Clinging to Detective Hale, they must work together to stop more murders from happening and find the one whose been Serial Killing the college residents of Beacon Hills!


The smell of blood heavily permeated the air, tingling the nostrils like the smell of rubbing alcohol. It was a familiar scent, one Derek associated with himself, just like the smell of smoke and ash. He sighed and walked closer to the scene of crime, his boots clicking against the paved alleyway. Detective Inspector Derek Hale, of the homicide division was briefed only moments earlier on this case. This was the body of 20 year old "Stiles" Stilinski, child of Officer John Stilinski of the Beacon Hills Police Department. Deceased mother, he's been dead at least 24 hours, body mutilated almost beyond recognition, the only thing identifying him was a fingerprint match due to a past juvenile arrest record for trespassing. Derek rubbed his eyes, knowing that this was going to be a long night. This was another kill from the same serial killer that was on the loose the past week. The previous victims had been Scott Mccall, Allison Argent, and Lydia Martin, all college sophomores that had been home on Spring break. They had also been an extremely close knit group in their high school years, the bond following them to college. Derek had to admit, he really wasn't surprised that he had been called in to investigate yet another murder, since the pattern had been worked out fairly quick, the serial killer was taking one victim per night. It was only Wednesday, and if the killer was not caught there would be three more kills by the end of the week. Derek stood from where he had crouched down to get a closer look and motioned the leader of the forensic team to his side. Deaton had previously been a vet, and thought of as a mystic-man, but was now in the forensic field, after the death of his wife, the late Ms. Morell. He had gotten into this career to help bring people to justice.  
Derek simply took the clipboard from Deaton's hand, a compilation of his findings. It was a smear of ink on white lined paper that gave Derek no useful information, since the blood splatters went in all directions so trajectory was difficult to work out. They had no leads on the weapon used to do this nor were there any suspects in the now four murder cases. Derek turned to the forensic staff and cleared his throat, aching for a cigarette but not willing to smoke on the job.  
"I'm heading back to the office, Deaton, if there's anything you find out fax it over. You've got my number." He sharply walks to the car and once inside he slams his head against the steering wheel. He had known the Stilinski kid, not very well, but everyone in Beacon Hills Polic Department had to have met him at least once. He was Officer Stilinski's son, he was obnoxious and talked way too much, but he had a sense of humor and was really rather intelligent. He was going to school to become a science teacher, primarily chemistry. Derek had remembered him mumbling something about how he would "steal Harris' job because that guy was a total douchecanoe" if he remembers correctly. Derek had finally pulled into his drive way and sauntered into his dark house. Well, it was technically a loft, he wondered if Isaac had gone out. Isaac was Derek's foster teenager, you could call it, although it was more like he had adopted a stray cat who wandered in and out whenever. Isaac was 20 now, and Derek had warned him about being careful because the serial killer was picking off those around that age range. Derek flicked the light on and headed to the kitchen, the loft was old and a bit battered around the edges, but it was still home. He pulled his carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and drank straight from the carton, which Isaac always complained about him doing. Which was a good sign, since the kid had been extremely polite and skittish around him when they first met.

"So that Isaac kid, he lives with you too then? I had heard my dad talking about it before, it was really great of you to take him in like a stray cat." Derek turned around with a start, and then began to rub his eyes, gaping at the translucent skin of the one and only Stiles Stilinski.  
"Stiles. But you can't be. You're. You're. ...Dead." He says, his eyebrows scrunching together tightly, confusion evident on his face.  
"Well, duh, hence the reason I'm translucent. And in your apartment. Oh, and also you saw my corpse. Wait, I should also say that I'm totally not a hallucination." "Stiles" began to wiggle around in a way that made it obvious that even in death his balance was completely terrible.  
"So you're a ghost. Who killed you then?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms over his chest.  
"Whoa man, right to business then. And..uh,..I actually, kinda maybe have no idea who killed me." Ghost Stiles rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish grin.  
"So you're saying you're saying you are a ghost of a murder victim who has no idea who killed them."  
"Wow. I like how you phrase questions like sentences DI Hale. That's what I freakin' said, and we need to work together to catch the bastard who killed me, and that asshole killed Scott and Allison!"  
"So wait, why aren't the ghosts of Scott and Allison following me around?" Derek asks, apparently that thought hadn't occurred to stiles and he looked as confused as Derek felt.  
"I have no idea? Probably because they were sickeningly cute with each other and even death cannot keep them apart? So since they died on separate days their spirits both got sent on? I'm still pretty new to this "being dead" thing if you didn't know, De-rek." Stiles says his name in split syllables and Derek grits his teeth to keep from biting out insults at the dead guy.  
"Well, since I'm pretty sure you're just a hallucination caused by stress and mental images that my brain cannot handle, I'm going to call it a night." Derek says, undoing his belt and walking in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Stiles to sigh to himself in the kitchen.


End file.
